» Crap meals out

As I used to work with a chef....
I'm probably not the best person to go out for a meal with (not saying im gorden "fucking" ramdsy, cos he's an cuntybumface).

But me, my wife and her perents went out for a meal to pub down the road, that, so we were told, "did good grub". So off we go, all was well, until we actually walked into the pub, this is where the nightmare started.

First of, we walk upto the bar, asked for our table, all good. But then over walks my ex.... SHE WAS OUR BLOODY WAITRESS! So I'm sitting there, with my wife and in-laws and the ex is coming onto me while taking our orders.(with blaten cheesey lines like "We've got some nice rump, I know you like rump Matt *insert sleazy wink here*). So at this point the in-laws are giving me shifty looks, and theres a nice air of silence.

So we finnaly get our food. My steak, was supposed to be medium, looked more like the cow had been hit with a warm frying pan and put on the plate. But the best bit was my father-in-law ordered beef wellington. Cuts it open, and inside, along with the beef and the patê, was a chefs hat..... one stinking, sweating, cooked, black and white chefs hat... (not the tall ones before you ask).

At that point, we promply left. On the way out, the ex steps out with a "Aww was good to see you Matt" and then tried to hug me, but she was quickly stopped by my wifes fist.... floored her in one.

Don't think we'll be welcome back again.
(Sun 30th Apr 2006, 1:44, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

Hostage crisis
To cut out a long boring back story, I've got bad IBS, so when when I'm suffering a hostage crisis, sometimes I just have to release them. Recently I've had a major stressful time, so its got a lot worse. My doctor got me this nice card that says "Please let me use your toilet, I have a medical problem", mean I can go in anywhere, flash it, and use their loo.

Now because of previously mentioned stress and problems, 90% of the time its kinda "soft" (by soft I mean, somewhere between melting cadburys fruit and nut bar, and the colour and constancy of stewed tea - no milk - ).

So anyway, I'm walking along local high street... and I've got to go... NOW! Hastily looking around to find an empty shop I can go flash my card, and release the hostages. Being saturday afternoon, naturally every wheres quite busy... but saviour, an over price ladies undies shop, (we're talking 50 quid for a pair of "panties" that have less material then a tea bag). So I pop my head in the door, no customers... Fooking jackpot!

So I walk up to the counter, politely yet with a sense of urgency I ask to use the loo (I think it went something like, "toilet... caniuseitnow...please!") I get a firm look from the lady who quite firmly says "NO, Staff only". At this point I'm thinking, "fine, I just unleash it right here on your overpriced skimpies" but I pull out the card, show her and hope for the best.

She takes one look and suddenly turns into the caring mother type, talking to me all nicey nice, which is all good, unless you need to unleash some chocolatey fury, and she's just holding you up.

Anyway, finally get to the toilet in the back, all nice and shiney and white. As you would expect from a woman's shop. I bearly get me kacks down when all hell breaks loose in the arse department... (think projectile or farting at the same time as having the runs). After a good 4 mins, its all over...

Standing up to survey the damage, the inside of the bowl is plastered... chocolate artex covered 90% of the back and most of both sides. Me being the considerate person, I look for a brush... alas... none... nothing... so I flush and hope for the best... wait for it to finished and still the bowl looks like some kind of modern art from the "novel scat exhibit".

If there not smart enough to have a brush, they can deal with that "shit".

So I leave the toilet, the nice lady was waiting for me, she asked "can you find you own way back?" here me thinking, that if I let her go in now, with me still in the shop... NOT GOOD. So I say, "not sure... was in to much of a rush to notice" so she leads me back to the shop floor, and then goes back from where she came (I'm thinking she either went to check or needed the loo herself, either way I wasn't sticking around) So I left.

I stood outside for a min or two, just to see if she would come back... but she didn't... I got bored and left... (not I great finish I know). I just hope she find it in her great wisdom to buy a damn bogbrush.

Beware us people with the blue card of power!
Apologise for Length
(Sun 30th Mar 2008, 22:28, More)

» Common

itchy bits
One of my major bugbears is people that say itch instead of scratch...

"ohh could you itch my back"
"no, but I'll scratch your itchy back you common slag"

I wonder why I'm divorced at 25 sometimes... I did grow up in a posh little village though, complete with a pub you had to wear a shirt and shoes to enter...

Oh and while I'm on the subject, "Compooter" .... I work in phone tech support (based in the UK, for a "posh" department store, sounds like lon jewis) most of the customers are supposeditly (spelling i know) in the upper 40% of the social chart... BUT THEY CANT SAY COMPUTER!!!

And that really grinds my gears... these are mostly the same people that complain about the guy in the corner shop "looking a bit foreign" but they cannot speak there own language properly!

(typing could be dodgy. New keyboard that im not used to yet)
(Thu 23rd Oct 2008, 0:28, More)